Both kids are napping, although as I’m typing this Oliver is making noises to the effect of – Mom, get ready … I’m hungry in about 4 minutes.
So – marathon post – here it goes.
Jessica is having a time of it. Hitting, pulling hair … not listening. This all goes under the category of “adjusting to the new family dynamics” and “Hey – back off, I’m only 3”. Both categories in which we are fluent these days.
It’s tiring, oh so very tiring, to be consistent – and some days I’d really rather just throw it to the bulls than to get up off my tired bum, put the baby down, put the boob away and run after her to make sure she’s corrected, yet loved and hugged.
I agree with live-in nannies. Anything I might have said prior that would make any of you believe otherwise was pure rubbish.
We’re getting asked about Oliver’s name – is it a family name? Which Schaap is he named after? Well … none. Apparently there were quite a few Oliver Schaaps back in the day – but let me tell you how we came about his name.
It was 3 1/2 years ago – Aaron and I were pregnant with baby #1 and went out to dinner to Crazy Horse. We had to wait for a table, so we sat outside and started talking names. Aaron was pretty noncommittal about any of the names I brought up at that point so I let him do the picking for a while. All of a sudden he says “How about Oliver, for a boy?” I pinched myself because I had thought the same thing but was afraid to ask him – we had talked about Olivia for a girl and settled on Onalee if it was a girl (different story – coming later) I said “YES!” and it stuck. Oliver was the boy’s name.
We had a girl – her name, obviously, is not Onalee. We changed our minds on the girl name a few hours before she was born. She’s named after my cousin and my aunt.
Insert baby #2. We knew this one was a boy and talked about other names – in the end there were 4 on the table, 3 of which we were seriously tossing around and Oliver was the main contender. We had been in the hospital for a good 8 hours with nothing really happening when I turned to Aaron and said – “Ok. Oliver. It’s Oliver. And we’re done.”
Conversation over.
Story not over, both kids woke up crying – gotta go.

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